


Darkness

by Anuna



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Don't worry its consensual skyeward, F/M, dark-sih, dealing with aftermath of coerced intimate acts, discussion of non con, mind and body posession, recovering from posession, spoilers up to 3x17 the team
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-23
Updated: 2016-04-23
Packaged: 2018-06-04 02:23:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6637177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anuna/pseuds/Anuna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She remembers the creature telling her what to do, whispering it inside her mind, giving her a compelling urge to do it. But not telling her <i>how</i> to do it. </p>
<p>That part is on her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Darkness

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stargazerdaisy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stargazerdaisy/gifts), [PrawnCrackers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrawnCrackers/gifts).



prompt: craving

 

 

* * *

 

 

They've been here for weeks and he hasn't done as much as brushing her hand in the passing. It's strange because she feels like they've touched often before, but rationally she knows those contacts were limited to sparring and other training most of the time. Yet, the notion keeps nagging her before she realizes when it was _when_ they touched so much.

 

Ward is careful around her. Subdued and restrained, the way she remembers him from the earliest time, before she so much saw him smile. She is aware of his gaze cataloging her expressions. He shows up in bathroom the moment she raises the scissors to her hair. She can't say she's surprised.

 

“That won't help,” he tells her.

 

She crops her hair uneven and short, near her ear. For a moment it feels like she has cut away some of the time she spent under the influence of that _thing_ , but it's just a _moment_. Very soon its clear that even her cropped hair will serve as a reminder.

 

Everything reminds her, every single fucking thing. The sight of her skin and shaking of her hand and the familiar hum of vibrations in her blood. There isn't a single part of her that thing didn't touch, literally or figuratively.

 

Ward is the only person she can stand to look at. At first she didn't want to, because _it_ wore his face and used his hands to sway her (the hands that never really hurt her, unlike what hers did unto him). But in the aftermath of chaos _she_ created, she finds she can't stand looking at others. Compassion and understanding and reassurance ( _it wasn't you, it wasn't your fault, it was him_ ). All she wants to do is scream because they can't understand, can't comfort her, but worst of all it's when they mention _him_.

 

Unlike them all, he _knows_ what it was like.

 

Which is why she leaves one day, just a backpack slung over her shoulder ( _don't think about it_ ). Honestly, she isn't sure how she resisted to do it this long. After nearly three months of slowly suffocating in the base, she feels free to breathe.

 

 

 

So she is here. There are quiet rooms, sunshine and a beach. _Tahiti is a magical place_ , she thinks. She'd agree to go through the procedure in a heartbeat, just so she could forget. But then a part of her reminds her that she's not allowed not to remember what she's done.

 

She can still feel her arms going limp, spreading sideways as she becomes a puppet. Well, not exactly a puppet. It's... strange, it's something she can't describe (she's _afraid_ to). But she remembers Hive telling her what to do, whispering it inside her mind, giving her a compelling urge to do it. But not telling her _how_ to do it.

 

That part is on her.

 

*

 

She remembers crushing bones. The way satisfaction crawled up through her veins like a drug. How elated she felt. How _powerful_. How she _relished_ in it all. She looks at her ruined hair and realizes the creature didn't put _that_ in her. She remembers shooting Donnie Gill, and she remembers taunting Ward behind the bars. The cold cruel sensation that spread in her chest once Hive infected her was there, like a pool beneath her feet. Hive just nudged her. She chose to swim and she chose how far.

 

And in it all there was Ward. She doesn't understand what happened. (That's what she tells herself at first. She knows.) In that _one_ moment he was suddenly... _there_.

 

*

 

They've been here for weeks and he hasn't touched her at all. Not even once, not on accident – and it's not that he's avoiding her, it's not that he's withdrawn, or that she feels alone. It's the opposite. She felt alone on the base, and here she feels a presence that's him and he's just here. Just letting her breathe and sit on the beach while he swims long and hard out towards the ocean.

 

But there's an itch, slowly building inside of her, ever since she's arrived. At first it was just a whisper, steadily growing in quiet evenings when Ward would make fire and she'd just stare at the embers. Maybe it could burn away everything some day. Maybe. But not likely.

 

It takes her a month to try to touch herself. In the quiet of the night she reaches between her thighs. She's wet pretty quickly, exploring how her fingers feel down there. She swallows, careful to stay quiet and spreads her legs wider beneath the thin sheet she's covered with. Being afraid isn't the same as being without the need. The thought passes her mind as she's skyrocketing towards the peak, her fingers slick and sticky. She pushes two and then three into herself biting her lip, wishing for a pressure of another body above hers. Mercifully, her mind stays quiet and doesn't offer her anything but vague fantasies of couples fucking and getting lost in it. She comes before she can stop herself and halfway down from her high she realizes whose face flashed before her.

 

Or perhaps not. Her chest is heaving as she wipes her fingers against the sheet next to her thigh. She calls the image to her mind, but she can't tell which one it was. The memory starts unfolding uninvited, being kissed and kissing back, and fingers slipping under her shirt, inside her pants, under the waistband of her underwear.

 

She remembers the moment it stopped, the second the eyes looking at her became human and warm, familiar assurance of darkness that used to look at her, and she'd tell herself _I am better_.

 

It's a downhill from there, because looking at Ward brings the itch to her mind. Her attempts to ease it on her own are futile and she has to stop herself before memories invade her, before she relives her desire to spread her legs for the creature controlling her. And yet, looking at Ward during waking hours is different. The sight of his broad shoulders makes her feel flushed, tight under her skin and wet between her legs. You always wanted this, the creature told her and that too it didn't put in her head. She found Ward fuckable since the moment she stabbed her finger into his chest and called him a government toolbag. She spent long hours wondering how his hands would feel touching bare skin, tweaking nipples, fingers pushing between her legs. She had too many dirty fantasies inside her mind and they never went away. She just locked them and it seemed the creature just set them free.

 

Or did it?

 

It was eating her alive, because she couldn't know for sure. Did she really want Ward all this time?

 

 

*

 

It just goes downhill from there. She becomes hyper aware of him, of his movement and the way sunlight makes his face look sharp with edges. She becomes aware of his scent and warmth and little droplets of sweat while he's working out n the living room floor. She keeps watching, shadowed in the corner on the first floor, lips dry and throat tight as she observes large muscles of his back. She wants to run her fingers along his spine, push her fingernails into his skin; she wants him to grip her by the hips and fuck her from behind, hard and fast until she screams. She wakes up sweaty and tense, unable to properly rest.

 

Ward, if he suspects anything, he doesn't let it show. He's just there, just with her, not bothering her, but letting her be. She's aware what he is doing and she's grateful for that. The best assurance she can get is that she doesn't have to explain or apologize if her thoughts and her expressions are grim for days. He understands. He was never the one to talk a lot, unlike her, but right now she doesn't want to talk _at all_. He seems to understand that too.

 

Her patience reaches the end when she wakes up from a dream where they fucked and fucked, but she couldn't come. Her skin is hot, her nipples are tiny, painful points and her underwear feels drenched. She gets up, her feet touching the chilly floor. She gets rid of the yoga pants she sleeps in, leaving her underwear behind as well. There's some relief as cool night air touches her skin as she pads down the dark hallway and reaches the door to only other occupied room in the house.

 

She comes in quietly enough not to wake him and pauses by the door before she flicks on the light. That wakes him. The moment of confusion is short before he looks at her with worry. She bows her head.

 

“Skye?”

 

She's unwilling to correct him this time. The name does something to her too, there's something good about being reminded of it, and how it felt to be _Skye_ to him. Her heart stars beating fast and it's almost like he can sense it.

 

“What happened? Are you okay?”

 

She shakes her head first and then makes herself raise her eyes and look at him. The fabric of his black shirt stretches where his shoulders push forward as he leans on his forearms on the bed. She swallows. Closes her eyes. This is the man who never rejected her. Why is she so afraid?

 

“I need you,” she makes herself say.

 

His face is painted with confusion as she comes closer and sits on his bed. She's still not touching him, but they're so close, her fingers inches away from his.

 

Slowly, she moves her hand.

 

Her fingers shake – well they do until his hand envelopes hers, soft and warm and certain.

 

She draws a breath, realizing the rest of her is shaking too.

 

He's rising to sit up, moving closer to her and she can feel his warmth near herself. She can smell him, the unique scent of him that's coded into her mind since so long ago. It seems that he understands this too, knows exactly what she's here for when he moves a strand of her hair behind her ear.

 

“What do you need?” he asks. His face is there, his lips a silent offer and she leans in.

 

“This,” she says and moves closer. They kiss, soft and familiar, just a probing touch to test the waters.

 

She's shaking again but for entirely different reason now, and she's opening her mouth and pulling his lip between her teeth. He groans against her tongue and lets it into his mouth as she advances to straddle his lap. His hands feel wonderful and sure of themselves ans he helps steadying her. For a couple of moments there's just sound of kissing and soft groans coming from them both.

 

She pulls back when she's out of breath, chest heaving and pressed against his. The shirt feels too thick and heavy on her flushed skin so she pulls it off and throws it away. He looks at her like she's his god, like everything begins and ends with her. In the darkness of his eyes she searches the horrors he has committed, meeting them as a mirror image that's staring back at her. But darkness feels assuring here as he flats his tongue against her breast, opens his mouth and pulls the nipple inside. She watches, needing to memorize every single moment of _this_ , every expression passing his face and every sound _he_ makes. Her thighs are sticky, rubbing against the sheets he's covered with. She needs him so badly, feels like she might burn from inside out if she doesn't have him inside of her soon.

 

The sheets need to go. She's pulling on the material of his boxers and she doesn't even know how they come off, and he takes off his shirt and now they're both naked.

 

She pauses realizing that this didn't happen before, this didn't happen then; her and him finally naked before each other's eyes. The look on his face is hungry and his dick is hard when she straddles him again. He fuses his mouth against her breast and she reaches below, wrapping her fingers around her length and pushing herself down on him.

 

He stretches her to the point of pain and that's good, that's welcome, because then nothing hurt, not kissing the creature that used his body or feeling it touching her. Ward's fingers are big, pressing firm into the flesh of her ass as she raises and pushes down onto him again. He licks the skin of her throat, bites her lip, lets her invade his mouth again as they start to fuck. She lets him hold her steady as he moves underneath her and she's goading him on, barely aware of things she's saying. She comes suddenly, the shock of her orgasm making her cling to Ward's shoulders as she quakes around him.

 

The relief makes her sag against him. She can feel him stroking her back, his big palms rubbing soothing patterns up and down until she raises her head. He smiles and she smiles back, knowing that she's looking at the man she left behind on the bus. Her kiss is softer now, slow and deep, less fever and frantic need and more openness. The calm of her muscles doesn't last long. He is still hard inside of her and she wants him to move and fuck her again, she wants him to fuck her all night, wants to touch and bite and feel and ride him until they're both spent.

 

She wants to feel alive, and free and _now_.

 

Her hips start to rock in the rhythm of his kisses when she pulls away. He gives her a confused look and she has to pause just to memorize this: his parted lips and flushed face and the way he's looking at her.

 

“I want it from behind,” she says.

 

He kisses her to show his agreement and then he's rearranging them on the bed, her on her knees and him behind, pulling her by the hips and spreading her open.

 

“Hard,” she says, and that's what he does, enters her roughly so that she screams. “Yes,” she pants into the pillow and he sets up an unforgiving rhythm. She imagines the bruises on her skin where his fingers are digging into her ass, lets herself scream and moan every time his dick stretches her. She wishes she could see his face as they're doing this, but she has to settle for the groans and _fuck, Skye_ and things she can't even understand.

 

He slows down, changes the angle a little bit, fucks her deep and steady and she feels the pressure building, so she reaches with her hand between her legs. It takes just a little bit before she's coming again, long and hard spasms wrecking her. She's distantly aware that he literally slams into her and comes as well and it's not until his body is above hers and they're both panting that she comes back to herself.

 

When he rolls away from her she follows, greedily draping herself across his body as the feeling of being sated settles. Then she moves, so her face is above Ward's. The kiss is slow and messy, sticky and heavy with recognition. _This is how it feels_ , she thinks. And it's nothing how she felt back _then_.

 

“Thank you,” she says.

 

He smiles, his dark eyes a warm comfort and she remembers that darkness also heals.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Heavily inspired by the latest episode of AoS and discussions I had with few of my friends (stargazerdaisy, farmgirlusa and more-prawn-crackers). I suppose I am one of the few who got excited with the possibilities of character exploration, regardless of what show is going to do with this particular story line. (whatever they do, i can do it better). 
> 
> I dedicate this to stargazerdaisy and PrawnCrackers with my deepest thank you for cheering up and handholding on daily basis. I love you ladies!
> 
>  
> 
> Also? If you're one of those folks who thought this was going to be a fic about Ward revenge raping Skye, I give you a double middle finger salute. *blows kisses*


End file.
